The Prometheus Affair
by Nyala Necheyev
Summary: When a UFO crash-lands in the Arizona Desert, UNCLE Agents Solo and Kuryakin must compete with the X-Files and THRUSH to gain the upper hand and protect the crash survivor. UNCLE/X-Files/Battlestar Galactica crossover. Written by me and Dexter, a friend.
1. Act 1: Lieutenant Badr

Del Floria Tailor Shop New York City, New York Tuesday, 5:32 AM

It was a chilly day outside in New York City, and Waverly refused to turn the heater on in the underground base beneath Del Floria's Tailor Shop. Therefore, Napoleon Solo stood shivering in his winter jacket in the mercifully semi-heated environment in the shop entrance, considering banding all the other cold agents together and getting them to sign a protest letter to the old man when Illya Kuryakin walked in the front door, his face calm but cheerful, blond hair tussled slightly by the cold wind outside. His black business suit was flecked with snowflakes, but he wasn't wearing a monster jacket like the one Napoleon had been forced to wear.

"Good morning, Napoleon," Illya smiled briefly at his partner then frowned slightly, "What's the matter with you?"

Napoleon simply glared at the Russian enviously.

"It▓s...cold."

"Cold?" Illya asked in surprise, "This? Ah, nyet, this is nothing! Let▓s go inside."

With that, Illya and Napoleon headed through the secret door and down an elevator into the headquarters of the U.N.C.L.E., the latter counting the ways he was going to murder his cold-blooded partner.

"Ah, Mr. Solo, Mr. Kuryakin," Waverly recognized them as they stepped into the control room, seemingly unaware of Napoleon's glowering mood, "Come in, I have a job for you - And what is the mater with you, Mr. Solo?"

"It's cold, sir!" Napoleon answered through chattering teeth. The unphased Russian rolled his eyes and continued on towards the desk Waverly had just stood up from.

"Good heavens, Mr. Solo, it's not Antarctica," Waverly reproved the young agent, then turned to introduce the two agents' new case.

"You will be investigating a UFO crash."

Illya looked up at Waverly, his blue eyes wide with surprise.

"You can't be serious!"

"Oh but I am, Mr. Kuryakin," Waverly replied, quite seriously, "and you two will be the first ones on the scene. The President will make sure of that."

FBI Headquarters Washington, D.C.  
Tuesday, 7:53 AM

Special Agent Erin Samantha Tucker received the call that morning, to report to Special Agent Cooper's office to receive a quick briefing, unofficial of course, on her next mission.

As she walked into the tidy, dim office of the X Files' head agent, Nya couldn't help but feel a slight wash of deja vu. Every little adventure seemed to always start out this way. The sunlight from the opened, second-story window glistened on her red, highlighted hair, which had been cut choppishly at shoulder length. Her blue eyes took in her surroundings wearily, the dust specks floating in the air like the spunky, charming freckles on her small, impish face.

"Nobody here but the FBI's most unwanted," Mulder, a nice man with a wife and two kids already, had told the young Texan when she had just started. Erin couldn't help but wonder what that said about the way the Federal Bureau of Investigation viewed her and her reputation.

"Agent Tucker," Cooper said in acknowledgment as she entered, "Have a seat. I've got a new assignment for you, and it's a hot one."

"Hot?" Erin smiled slightly, "How so?"

Cooper laughed slightly at the typical avoidance of small talk. Erin had always been very matter of fact, despite her wild habits and strong southern accent.

"It's a ▒suspected▓ UFO crash-landing," he explained to her grimly, "But there's a problem."

"Pray tell?" Tucker prompted simply, raising one long, pretty eyebrow.

"U.N.C.L.E.'s determined to get to it first."

Erin Tucker sighed and looked at one hand which lay in her lap morosely. "Great," she answered him ironically, "And let me guess - I'm supposed to get there before they do."

"Spot on," Cooper replied sternly, "And then tell them some quick little story about how you're there representing the FBI's interests in this matter if they catch you. Got it?"

"Yes, sir," Tucker replied, standing, "I do."

"Here's tickets to the crash site," Cooper said, handing her a small white envelope, "Plane leaves in about an hour."

Somewhere in the Arizona desert Tuesday, 12:20 PM

Amal huffed as she kicked her viper wing which immediately creaked, a panel falling off. Exasperated she fell to her knees, pulling off her gloves, helmet, and the top half of her uniform. She pressed her com on her wrist, hoping to the gods it worked still after the crash. Who knows, the Pegasus could be out of range.

"Shortstop to Prometheus, can you hear me?" Amal asked, using her call-sign. She let her wrist fall as she waited for an answer, looking at her viper sadly. It was in poor condition. She stood, still waiting for an answer, climbing up to look into the cockpit. It wasn't too heavily damaged but if she didn't stop that fire there wouldn't be anything left to salvage.

"Shortstop to Prometheus, do you read?" Amal asked, hoping they were just recovering from the fact that she'd crashed and could really hear her. She begged the gods in her mind that they could hear her and were just wasting time. She looked around at where she was.

She was in the middle of a desert, which was strangely perfect for this type of situation, although not exactly the ideal situation for a crash landing. She wondered if that toaster who'd shot her down was still out there, waiting to pick her off. She ignored that morbid thought and again tried to contact the Prometheus.

"Shortstop to Prometheus, come in." She said, though she knew she wouldn't get an answer. "Frak," she swore, sighing. It was no use standing around and letting them think she's dead. Reaching into the cockpit she pulled out a small fire extinguisher, made exactly for situations like this. Amal was glad there was only a small fire on the center thruster. Though any fire was bad, if it was just one engine damaged she might be able to take off still.

"Come on baby," Amal said sweetly, as if she were talking to her own child. Not that she had a child. She pulled the pin on the extinguisher and pressed the handle down. It spurted out a little foam and then sprayed full force onto the fire. Amal smiled, spraying the fire for a full minute before stopping and waiting a moment. Satisfied that the fire was out she checked the rest of the ship for damages, yet unaware of the fact that there was life on this planet. And definitely unaware that the life on this planet knew where she was, and was heading her way.

---

UFO Crash Site Arizona Desert Wednesday, 12:22 PM

A day later, Agents Solo and Kuryakin had made their way into the Arizona desert, and could now see the crashed UFO. Illya was miserable, feeling suffocated in the nearly unbearable heat. Much to the contrary, however, Napoleon hopped out of the jeep and went over to the passenger's side to peer at the sweating Russian through the window.

"Good Morning, Illya! What's the matter with you?"

The Russian glared at his American partner and got out of the car, taking off his business jacket, although still feeling sweltered while wearing a simple shirt, jeans, and tie.

"You've got to be kidding me," he moaned, "It's hot!"

"Naah, this?" Napoleon answered vengefully, "This is nothing!"

Another glower from the Russian, along with a couple of native curses and accusations from the heart of the Soviet Union.

"Wait," Napoleon said, "I just saw something move out there."

Illya immediately turned towards the crash site curiously. "Where?"

"Out there," Napoleon pointed at the wrecked spaceship, "In that wreckage."

The two agents quickly moved in the direction of the wreckage, leaving behind the abandoned tents and equipment that had been set up at the order of the president so the agents would have a good workplace. Nevertheless, the wreck was still a good mile or so away, and on foot...It was murder, Illya decided, trying to ignore the cold chill that ran down his spine as he looked at the extraterrestrial wreck, hoping that it wasn't the first sign of a heat stroke.

Amal hadn't slept a single second since she'd crashed, thankful that it was clear where she'd crashed so she could see clearly as she worked using the light of this planet's singular moon. She was distracted, which was why she didn't see or hear Agents Kuryakin and Solo's approach. Her black vest and her plain white tank top were drenched in her sweat.

"Damn it!" Amal swore loudly, surprised that her voice didn't echo as she examined her FTL. It was totally ruined. She'd put off looking at it and repairing it until last, because this was exactly what she was afraid of. Running her hand through her hair she sighed. Shaking her head and wiping the sweat from her face she sat down in the cockpit, her head leaning back against the seat.

The sun made the back of her eyelids red. She was going to die in this heat if she didn't get her bird into the air. Shaking her head she stood, looking out at the desert. As she turned she noticed something moving towards her. At first she thought she was imagining things, but then she realized she wasn't. Someone was there!

"Frak me," she muttered, pulling out her sidearm from its holster attached to her right thigh and aiming it at the people. She couldn't yet see their faces, and it was better to apologize for aiming a gun in someone's face than get shot or captured by skin jobs because you didn't.

Illya saw the drawn weapon, and quickly drew his semi-automatic. Napoleon did the same, though neither fired.

"It's alright," Napoleon told the woman distinctly. From what he could see of her through the humid atmosphere, she was very beautiful for an E.T. "We mean you no harm. I'm Special Agent Napoleon Solo, and this is my partner, Mr. Illya Kuryakin. We won't fire unless you do."

Illya watched the alien carefully to see what she would do. Call him paranoid, but what assurance did they have that this was what the alien really looked like? She could be a shape shifter, or be using a holo-projector of some sort...hell, 'she' could even be an 'it', for all they knew.

Amal narrowed her eyes at the man who spoke. Napoleon? What a strange name. She gazed behind them, seeing jeep they'd arrived in. She was surprised that they had technology here. Was this really Earth? She also noticed that there weren't any centurions around. Skin jobs never went anywhere without one of those older model toasters to back them up. She lowered her weapon, though only partially.

She gazed at them both, saying nothing. The blonde, who hadn't yet spoken, drew her attention more than the one who had. Illya. He had a kind look about his eyes and the yellow straw color of his hair reminded her of her friend Killjoy. His hair was the same color. She wondered absently if Killjoy was looking for her, if the Prometheus even knew that she was missing yet. They'd been under a lot of heavy fire when she was shot down.

This ┘ Napoleon character. His features were harsher, more prominent. But just as reminding of her of home. The Ex. O. of the Prometheus had the same double chin and a somewhat similar partially hooked nose. But he clearly wasn't her type. Loud, and somewhat full of himself it seemed. Too obnoxious.

But Illya, he seemed like someone she could trust. She didn't keep her thoughts on their features for long. She knew how skin jobs worked. They whittled their way into your hearts and then back stabbed you like the machines they were.

Infiltrate. Destroy. That seemed to be their only mission and she wouldn't allow the way these men appeared to affect her judgment. She raised her weapon back up, still not speaking. She didn't trust her voice at the moment. Illya's finger tensed on the trigger as the young woman raised her weapon again.

"Please lower your weapon," Solo advised her calmly, reassuringly, "We're not going to hurt you. Do you know where you are?"

Illya continued to study the extraterrestrial in wary distrust. She seemed Human enough but there was still something about her that was all too alien.

"Earth," Amal said, looking at Solo with an amazed glance. It's as if he thought she was stupid. "I'll lower mine if you lower yours. I'm not unintelligent Mr. Solo, though with the way you both are dressed out here you both seem to be of a low IQ." Amal said, her face not betraying how amazed she was at what she'd just said. It was so rude, and so... daring! She loved it and a smile twitched at her mouth but she resisted.

She glanced down at what she herself was wearing. Her sweat soaked tank top and vest, her thick and insulated pants not helping her at all. In all honesty, they were more properly dressed than she was, but considering they were in the middle of nowhere she looked more at home. "To the contrary," Napoleon smiled back, "We both have a very satisfactory IQ. Right, Illya?"

Illya glanced at his friend, then returned his sharp gaze to the alien.

"Right," he said, not really willing to play word games with this woman, who was aiming a highly advanced weapon at both of them, "Now, miss, if you will lower your weapon, perhaps we can help you."

He couldn't believe he'd just offered to help a complete stranger. However, orders were orders, and Waverly had said to be nice to the alien.

"Well unless you have a spare FTL drive lying around, I don't really think either of you could help me." Amal said, lowering her weapon to her side, but not holstering it. She was a terrible shot, but they didn't know that. And the longer they were wary of her, the better. She figured that lowering her sidearm was probably the dumbest thing in the world she could do, but she knew that they'd probably be there for hours if she kept playing the 'you scratch my back, I'll scratch yours' game.

"Though some real food would be nice," She added, her stomach reminding lewdly her of the last time she'd eaten. She rested her left hand, the one not holding her weapon, on the side of her viper's cockpit and then swung her legs over the side. She landed on her feet but stumbled a little, the heat and her own natural clumsiness attributing to the ungraceful movement.

Both Napoleon and Illya took a concerned step forward, then stopped as she regained her footing.

"We brought some food with us, and we'd be happy to share it," Napoleon smiled encouragingly at the young lady, "Though I think Illya's already eaten most of it."

The Russian agent glared at Napoleon in return for this snide allusion to his unfathomable appetite. Although the agent managed to keep thin and fit, his constant hunger problem was a common enough joke among the agents at Base 1 who either knew him too well, or didn't know him well enough to know how hard he came down on folks ever time they joked about him.

"I haven't eaten anything yet, Napoleon," he shot back, "but if you're not careful I might eat your head." Turning then to the alien, Illya invited her to follow them to the jeep with a slight motion of his head.

"You haven't told us your name yet," Napoleon reminded her. Illya rolled his eyes in disdain. Didn't Napoleon ever turn the charm off for even a split second!?

"Lieutenant Amal Badr. Sorry about that." Amal said, not noticing the somewhat flirtatious remark. She was too distracted by the thought of real food to care, even if she had noticed. She jabbed a thumb at her viper which had her name and call sign plastered right on the side.

She glanced back, sighing at how much of a wreck her viper was still in. "Gods..." she said as she thought of how much Chief was going to murder her once she saw how frakked up her ship was. Though, considering she'd crash landed, he might just be thankful she's still in one piece.

"What is it?" Napoleon asked as he took the food out of the back of the jeep. Illya looked at the alien woman in slight concern, but figured it was nothing but the way he felt every time he made a mistake on a job. Alexander Waverly was a hard-driving task-master, and when you messed up, all you could expect was trouble, and a five-hour-long lecture.

As Napoleon spitefully offered Illya two MREs instead of the proper one, the Russian glared at him, took the MREs, and handed one of them to the woman standing beside him. Then looking at the contents of the one he was left with, Illya Kuryakin grimaced and tossed it back into the jeep. Somehow, eating a chemically heated chicken and rice MRE in the sweltering hot desert didn't sound very good to him at the moment.

Grabbing the keys from Solo, he headed toward the jeep and started the engine.

"What are you doing?!" Napoleon demanded.

"Getting some kind of cool breeze so our friend doesn't die of heat stroke," Illya shot back, opening the passenger's side door for Amal. "Okay, three things,■ Amal said tossing the MRE back to Solo, "That's not real food, I'm not your friend, and I am NOT getting into that jeep." Amal said her hand tightening on her sidearm. This was turning bad for her fast. She backed away a few paces. Yes, it did look inviting, but lots of things did.

"I'm going back," Amal said continuing her backwards walk to her viper. She really hated this situation now. Trapped on a planet in the middle of a desert, no food, no radio contacts, and stuck with two guys who could easily be skin jobs was NOT her idea of an afternoon. Not to mention the fact that her viper was pretty much trashed. She hoped that if she had to get physical that she'd at least clock one of them in the head, preferably Napoleon. He just really creeped her out.

Illya and Napoleon looked at each other accusingly, and as the woman walked away, Illya quickly spoke up.

"So you think you'll do better without our help?" he challenged her, his Russian accent a bit stronger now that he spoke faster, "You think you'll be able to survive out here in this idiotic terrain alone? Where do you think you'll get food or water? Shto bardachnaya dyela, you'll die of dehydration if you don't die of the heat first. There's barely any shelter out here!"

"I'm sure I would die a worse death if I got inside that jeep," Amal snarled, wondering what he'd said. It wasn't in any language she'd heard before, or if she had heard it before she didn't recognize it. She glanced behind her at her viper. At least twenty paces... she could run it if she tried.

"Besides, I've almost got this thing repaired," she lied, hoping it wouldn't show. She really, really wanted to run. Get away as fast as she could. Her hand shook, terror rushing through her. She was totally frakked.

"We won▓t hurt you," Illya promised her. Napoleon watched with growing concern. If this didn't work, if the alien ran off on them, then Waverly would be more than pissed - he'd be murderous.

"Please," Illya continued calmly, "Trust us."

And save us from the wrath of Waverly, Napoleon thought humorously.

"Trust you?" Amal asked, as if she couldn't believe he'd be so naОve to think she'd trust them. "I'm sorry if my past experiences teach me to be smarter than that." Amal said, her hand shifting its grip on her sidearm so that her finger lay more easily against the trigger.

"I shouldn't even be here," She said spitefully, her eyes almost swelling with tears as she struggled to keep her mind clear. This was why she was never good in face-to-face battle. She started talking and everything just went downhill from there. "F-f-frack," she managed lifting her hands and holding them against her temples, her gun still held tightly in her hand as if it were her life source.

Illya looked shocked, as though confused as to what his next move should be. Instead, Napoleon stepped toward her gently.

"It's alright," he told her soothingly, "I understand everything must seem a little weird to you right now. Just bear with us, okay? We're in unknown territory too, when it comes to contact with, ah, your kind."

Illya then stepped forward, a bit annoyed that Solo had taken over for him, but still a bit relieved.

"You don't have to trust us," he told her, looking into her face, "You can keep your weapon, and you don't have to tell us anything until you're ready. Just let us help you in what ways we can."

Amal said nothing, taking a shaky breath. She just wanted to get in her viper and leave, but that was truly unlikely. She had no idea if the engines would even start, having never had to really repair one she couldn't tell if anything was wrong with it.

She looked up and noticed they'd moved closer. She swore in her mind and swallowed, though it was dry and it hurt to do so. She lowered her hands but kept her sidearm at the ready. After careful deliberation she bit her lower lip, hard until she could gather enough courage.

She turned, and ran. Her legs quickly helped her close the distance between her in her viper. Scooping up her helmet she scrambled towards the cockpit. Moving quickly, Illya grabbed her arm before she managed to attempt take-off.

"You need our help," he told her firmly, "There are other people who will want you for far more drastic reasons. You're safest with us."

The Russian really didn't want to knock her out to complete their mission, but he had made sure that if that was what it took, he would do it without hesitation. For his part, Napoleon hurried to ready a small, had-sized tranquilizer dart gun just in case, making sure to keep it out of the alien's sight.

"Let go of my arm, Illya," Amal said warningly. She didn't understand at all what was going on. "I have to come back anyway, my FTL's all frakked up remember? My battlestar's probably jumped away by now, I have no where else to go but back down." Amal said placing her hand on top of his.

"I don't trust you, and I really don't understand the big deal about me leaving for an hour or so," Amal said letting her hand fall from his, "I'm going whether you both like it or not," She finished, pulling her helmet over her head and working on her gloves, not yet making a move to get into the cockpit again.

She hated them being so close to her ship. If they were Cylons, they could probably just turn their human side off like some sort of switch. Latch onto her plane, and kill her before she even broke atmosphere.

"No, you're staying," Illya told her firmly, "And if you leave our sight for any amount of time, I can assure you that someone else is bound to get their hands on you, and that would become a much worse predicament than just coming with us."

Turning back to Napoleon, he nodded ever-so-slightly, giving him the go-ahead for the tranquilizer. Quickly, napoleon raised the tiny gun and fired. Illya caught the now unconscious woman, and carried her away from the wreck and into the jeep for transport back to the U.N.C.L.E. headquarters. 


	2. Act 2: Questions And Answers

U.N.C.L.E. Headquarters New York City, New York Saturday, 10:32 AM

A few days later under New York City, Illya Kuryakin met Napoleon in the hall. Both were on their way to the director's office.

"Hey, Illya," Napoleon greeted him, "Have you spoken to Miss Badr yet?"

"No," Kuryakin replied tersely, "I'm not even sure I care to."

"She may be a little murderous," Napoleon admitted, considering that they'd just knocked her out a couple days ago and had her locked up in a room, all be it a comfortable one, ever since she had woken up.

"But I think you'll do well with her," he reassured his Russian partner as they neared the office, "You seem to have a way with women, Illya. Besides," he said casually, opening the door to Waverly's office, "You don't want to have to tell Mr. Waverly you're to scared to talk with a beautiful alien lady pilot, now, do you?"

"Subterfuge?" Illya accused his friend interrogatively.

"Blackmail," Napoleon grinned back, then disappeared into the office. Illya stood there glowering at the closed door for a few minutes, then turned to go visit Amal Badr. Napoleon was right - Not talking to her was just short of cowardice. And nobody could ever call Illya a coward.

Illya had been smart for not wanting to go speak with Amal, for the first thing she did once she realized someone was coming in was position herself beside the door and swing a punch at head level. She'd been furious since she'd woken up, finding herself in the exact situation she didn't want to be in. Locked in, what she thought was, a Cylon holding place where they could experiment on her and do gods knows what else. She'd refused to eat so whomever she punched, if her aim was even right, probably wouldn't be hurt too badly.

Fortunately, Illya had been quick enough to duck, although the fist managed to graze his blond head. Quickly slipping under the extended fist, he shut the door with a foot and turned to face Amal, looking a bit guilty despite himself.

"I'm glad you missed," he commented wryly, then mentally kicked himself for saying such a thing, "I know things may seem a bit odd to you, but "  
"Get the frak away from me," Amal growled angrily. She was almost glad she'd missed too, but not enough to actually stop her from trying it again. "You frakkin' Cylons are all the same! Where's my viper? Where the hell am I!" She shouted aiming to push him against the wall.

Illya Kuryakin looked at the woman, a bit stunned.

"Cylons?" he asked as it hit him. This woman thought he was the enemy!

"You misunderstand," he told her, "We're human. We've never even heard of Cylons. Your viper is in a storage room in Area 51, and will be released once it is repaired. And you're in U.N.C.L.E. Base One. You're not a prisoner here, you're just...confined to quarters."

"I'm sure that's what you all say," Amal said shuddering at the thought before stopping her feeble attempts to hurt him and going over to sit on the edge of her bed. She had a million questions racing through her mind, but one thing was certain. She was tired, hungry, and she wanted to go back to the Prometheus.

"I suppose you're here to interrogate me?" Amal said with malice thick in her voice. Whatever good could had been built between them in the first few minutes they'd spent together, it was gone and there was a two hundred feet wall built that she had no plans of taking down. She rubbed her hands together, not looking at him as she glared at the still full tray of food they'd given her. It was real food, and she'd been tempted more than ever today to eat it.

But she didn't. They could have put anything in that food. She knew they'd have just killed her by now if that was their plan, they didn't beat around the bush. Her stomach growled at her complainingly but she ignored it.

"Well, no," Illya answered carefully, "Not exactly... Look, Lt. Badr, this won't do you any good. You need to eat something and trust us, for gods' sake. We're not your enemies. We're trying to protect you. Understand? Protect you," He annunciated. He was tired of all this apprehension. It drove him crazy! Illya just wanted answers, and wanted them now. He was getting nowhere with Badr acting like this.

"Just ask your questions Mr. Kuryakin," Amal said sighing. "Then I'll ask mine and depending on your answers I will eat." Amal said, knowing that she could last at least a half hour if not a bit longer. She looked up at him, her tired eyes having a light purple half moon under them. She looked terrible, and she was starving, but she would eat and she would sleep if she could get her questions answered and be reassured that they hadn't poisoned her food, and that they wouldn't murder her in her sleep.

"Thank you," Illya replied, relief almost showing in his voice, "Now, the first question, since we already know your name, would be, 'Where are you from', next on the list being, 'What are you doing here'. We know that you crash landed, but what were you doing in the Sol system in the first place?"

"I was born on Scorpion, the colony of Scorpia, the city of Acron in my mother's home twenty three years ago." Amal said, "But three years ago, Cylons attacked while I was out on a patrol with my assigned Battlestar's CAG." Amal paused looking down and taking a breath. "It all happened so fast, we barely made it out alive. I remember... I remember our Commander, Kira, her words as she made the first announcement after the first scouts had come back." Amal snorted, looking around the room for a moment.

"It was the first time we'd ever heard a superior officer cry," Amal said smiling without happiness. "She'd said, 'They're gone. Scorpion is gone. The colonies have been destroyed. Gather your friends, and stand by your strengths, because those mother frakker's are gonna pay.'" Amal said, swallowing before she continued.

"We spent weeks searching for survivors, using hit and run tactics to strike back at the cylons we came across, jumping away just before they could scramble their own ships and fire back. And that's how it was for a very long time." Amal said. "Then when the crew started getting uneasy and stir crazy, we started looking for something more permanent. Somewhere to start over. The commander, religious as she was, knew that something was going on with everything. That everything was somehow connected to our stories about the Lords of Kobol and how 'a dying leader' will lead their people to Earth." Amal said, her voice sounding soft.

"We started looking more into the book of Pithia, what it said, what the signs were, and finally, maybe two or three days ago, we found it..." Amal said her slips parting into a smile. She laughed, her eyes welling over with her tears. "We actually frakking found it... but then we get ambushed. A cylon basestar, a resurrection ship, and about twenty heavy raiders against one battlestar." Amal said, pausing as she tried to remember.

"We scrambled our vipers, and I was sent out in the second wave. There were so many of them. I got caught in a game of chicken with one of the raiders. Both of us were about to hit and then it swerved, hit me and I went flying. I passed out after that and when I woke up I only had enough time to level out my viper before I crashed. Everything after that you already know." Amal said wiping her eyes on the back of her hand.

Illya frowned in concern. This woman was saying that not only were her people some kind of lost tribe of humans, but her people had also made into the Sol system and had been tracked here by some kind of alien enemy - an enemy that might still be here.

"What exactly are the Cylons?" he asked her.

Meanwhile, in the Briefing Room, Agent Solo and Director Waverly were watching a live feed from the woman's quarters.

"He certainly does have a way with her," Napoleon joked, first she's swinging at him, then she's crying and spilling out who she is, where she came from, and what she's doing here."

Meanwhile, both their minds were running along the same track as Illya's. They had to find out more about these Cylons and prepare against a potential attack, and fast.

Just then a phone on a small desk began to ring. On the third ring, Waverly sighed in frustration and picked up the receiver.

"Mr. Waverly here, U.N.C.L.E. headquarters, New York. Yes?" he said. After a small bit of silence, he said, "What!?" Suddenly enough to catch Napoleon's attention.

"Yes, I understand, Mr. President, but -...Why should the FBI take an interest? Why should the FBI even know?...Yes, Mr. President....Yes sir....What is the agent's name, please?....Thank you, Mr. President...Goodbye."

When Mr. Waverly hung up the phone, teh first words out of Solo's mouth were:

"An FBI agent." It wasn't a question.

Waverly nodded unhappily. "At least it's someone we're familiar with, Mr. Solo."

"Familiar with?" Solo asked, frowning n confusion. Then his brown eyes widened with realization. "Tucker!"

Waverly nodded.

God, he hadn't seen Erin Tucker in ages, ever since she'd been Illya's temporary replacement when he'd been compromised once. Napoleon couldn't help but wonder if the spritely redneck would even remember him. 


	3. Act 3: SOS

Meanwhile, in the alien's room, Illya waited for Lt. Badr to answer his question. After a few seconds, he repeated, "What are the Cylons?"

Amal at first hadn't answered him because she thought him screwing with her head. But when he asked a second time and looked at her with that serious expression she knew that he truly had no idea what a cylon was. Sighing, Amal explained, "Cylons are a creation, robots. We were the first to create them. Then the rebelled, and the first cylon war started. We all took heavy casualties before the Armistice was signed, and after that they just disappeared. Nobody knew what happened to them. Everyone thought they'd never be back. Then that year, they finally show up. They blow up our planets, and we've been at war ever since."

"And is there any possibility that these things might be here, still?" Illya pressed on.

"No," Amal said shaking her head, confident with her answer. "A battle like that would have sent them scurrying considering they would have placed the protection of their resurrection ship higher than the destruction of the Prometheus. They're vengeful, but not stupid." Amal said gingerly touching her chapped lips as she waited for Illya's next question.

"Are you sure they wouldn't leave at least one of their kind in order to keep track of you?"

"I crashed, they probably assume I died," Amal said glancing over at him before getting up and grudgingly going over to the food, picking up the water but not opening it. Her last statement made her wonder if that's why the Prometheus hadn't replied to her calls. Had they jumped away, thinking she'd died? Surely Ames, her CAG, wouldn't have allowed them to leave without making sure.

They'd had an off and on relationship before the war, and they'd sparingly had dinner dates in the mess hall before the battle. But... she wasn't sure, and it scared her. Her need to get her bird in the air doubled in her mind and she was clearly distracted with her thoughts of it and the Prometheus. She blankly stared at the mirror on the wall across from her, looking at it but not really.

Illya, seeing her logic, decided to drop the subject of Cylons, but still thought they should prepare to fight against them. If not now, maybe later...Illya then noticed how thirsty Amal must be.

"Get a drink," he told her with a sigh, "You're torturing yourself needlessly. The water's there, it's not drugged, it's not poisoned, it's just _water_." He was a bit exasperated with the alien's apprehension, but he could understand. After all, he would have thought the same thing.

"It's time for your questions," he told Amal calmly.

Amal's surprised look showed that she'd completely forgotten that she'd told him she had questions. After a moment's thought, Amal took a small drink before speaking.

"Where's my viper?" She asked, wondering if he'd expected that question. If he hadn't, she'd be surprised.

"As I told you from the beginning," Illya replied, "It's in a storage room in Area 51, where we keep all UFO evidence. When we have discovered how to repair it, we will do so and, if you wish, we will return it to you and let you go free."

Illya knew, of course, that there was small chance of Amal ever leaving the planet now that she was being looked after unceasingly by the FBI and probably THRUSH, the KGB, the Syndicate, and most likely many other interested organizations. But for now, he had to keep Amal Badr calm, and that meant telling her what she wanted to hear. He didn't like lying to the woman, but a man of his position had to do whatever it took to follow orders and keep a low profile while doing his job as efficiently as possible.

"In other words, your men are tearing it apart to see how it works and when they can't get it back together then I'll get it back?" Amal asked, eying him with a knowing expression. She didn't know how technologically advanced this planet was, if they had vipers themselves or if they were still stuck on the ground but she doubted they'd be able to fix it. The image of her precious viper laying in pieces on the floor of some storage area being examined by strange men who didn't know how she worked made her shudder.

"If I answer whatever further questions your commander, or whoever runs this place, has and my usefulness runs out, then what happens?" Amal asked.

"Then you are free to go," Illya replied honestly. She would probably be given a false identity to cover her tracks and to protect her real identity - gods knew their were plenty of people who would love to get their hands on, and dissect, a real and for true alien specimen.

Amal sighed, nodding. She'd believe it when it happened. She reached up to ruffle her hair and made a face as she felt how disgustingly oily and dirty it felt.

"What all are my privileges at the moment?" Amal asked. If she was stuck there, she'd need clothes, shower time, and definitely somewhere to exercise so her muscles didn't start to atrophy.

"You can go anywhere on base," Illya responded, "Except the control room, the briefing room, the laboratory, and the director's office. You're not allowed outside of the base, of course, because then it would be all to easy for THRUSH to spot you and take you away the second we weren't looking."

Illya noticed with relief as Amal began to actually eat and drink. Nothing was worse than being in the room with an aggressive, suspicious woman. The Russian knew that from experience.

"Mind giving me a tour?" Amal asked, trying to pace herself as she ate. Her stomach gurgled at her thankfully as the food settled with difficulty. She hadn't eaten since the last morning she'd been on the Prometheus and since then she'd been dehydrated, knocked out, starved and sleep deprived (though the last two were her fault). "I don't want to walk in somewhere and end up on a slab 'cause I took a wrong turn."

Illya smiled politely.

"Maybe later," he told her, "I have to report in now and see what our next move is going to be concerning the Cylons and THRUSH's interest in you."

With that Illya stood and turned to leave the room.

"Hey, Illya..." Amal said hesitating as she bit at her lower lip a little. "I'm sorry for trying to hit you... And for pointing a gun at you and that Soho guy or whatever his name was. I acted on my instincts and my training and knowing now what I do, I was wrong to judge you before I knew you," Amal said, keeping her voice quiet.

She knew it was probably stupid to apologize for what she'd done, but considering she'd been shown nothing but kindness from him since they'd met… Albeit a few moments when he'd clearly lost patience with her, she felt that apologizing would be the right thing**.**

Illya paused, then turned back to face her.

"It's alright," he told her reassuringly, "I understand, Lieutenant. I would have done the same thing if the tables had been switched."

Amal smiled looking down at her food for a moment before looking back. "I really hope that's true," Amal said and then went back to her tray, making it clear the conversation was over.

**Somewhere in the Orion System**

**Battlestar Pegasus**

"We need to jump back damn it she's still down there!" Captain Ames argued, pounding his fist angrily on the desk of Commander Kira. The woman had been patient thus far with the young Captain, but she was wavering quickly.

"What proof do you have? What evidence is there? We lost over thirty vipers out there today, not even including raptors, what makes you so sure that she survived?" Commander Kira asked standing up and resting her fingertips on her desk as she looked at the stressed man before her who clearly cared deeply about this specific pilot.

"I feel it-" He began but she cut him off.

"I will not purposely place my ship and my crew at risk because you have a feeling, Captain." Kira said sternly making it clear she wouldn't back down.

"Then let me go alone." Captain Ames said, not giving up. Kira's eyes narrowed at him, searching him.

"And who would I have replace you? Foxtrot? Switchback? Free Fall?" Kira asked, naming the few remaining high ranking pilots left.

"I've already asked and every one of them has said they'd be glad to take my place should you decide to let me go," Ames said, confident. Kira snorted, letting a little smirk tug at her lips.

"You planned this before you even stepped into my office," she said, a statement not a question.

"Yes sir," He replied waiting. She grunted and eased herself back down into her seat, lacing her fingers together and resting her forehead against them as she leaned on her desk for a moment. Drawing a breath she shook her head and sighed, waving towards her door.

"Go, take a raptor and a marine and go find you pilot Captain," Kira said giving in. Ames beamed, standing up and saluting her before running out. It was a few minutes sitting alone in her office before Kira pulled out a glass and a bottle of ambrosia, asking herself in her mind... '_What have I done?_'

**UNCLE Headquarters**

**NYC, New York, Earth**

Illya left Badr's room and hurried back to the control room, where Agent Solo and Director Waverly both were no doubt full of new information concerning THRUSH's movements and plans to prepare against a Cylon threat.

When he arrived there, he was surprised to find Waverly looking glummer than ever, and to see Solo pacing the room as though they were about to receive the president of the United States in the small room.

"What's the matter with you?" he asked Solo curiously.

"It's Tucker," Solo told him, his brown eyes bright with anticipation, "Remember Erin Tucker?"

Illya thought for a moment, then looked at Waverly, then back at Solo with wide blue eyes.

"That Texan who almost replaced me?" he asked, a bit perplexed. The last time she'd been in the UNCLE base at NYC, the wild-eyed redneck had kissed him full on the lips just to prove a point to Napoleon. "What about her?" He asked.

"She's the representative that the FBI is sending to oversee matters in their interest," Waverly told the Russian glumly.

Illya's eyebrows shot up almost into his hairline.

"Why does the FBI need to send a representative in the first place?" he demanded.

"She's not just any agent, Illya," Napoleon told him with a grin, "She's now working with the X Files."

Illya couldn't say he was surprised. The X Files dealt with all sorts of cases, cold and hot, that dealt with anything to do with the paranormal, a perfect place for a dreamer like Tucker.

"When is she arriving?" Illya asked.

"Tonight," Napoleon told him, "And we're going to meet her outside Del Floria's."

**Somewhere in the Orion System**

**Battlestar Pegasus**

"Foxtrot, you're in charge while I'm gone okay? Make sure you let everyone know I don't want you to get caught off guard and orders being issued but not followed because of confusion," Ames said as he pulled on his gloves, the marine he'd been ordered to take with him holding his helmet. He'd also employed an Ensign trained in ECO to help them along in case.

"Yes, sir," Foxtrot said saluting him. Her eyes searched him. "Do you really think you'll find Shortstop out there?" She asked, voicing the question most of them had been asking. Ames paused as he took his helmet from the marine. He didn't answer her until after he'd gotten his helmet.

"I know she's out there somewhere, and I don't intend on coming back until I find her, or I've almost run out of fuel to make the jump back." Ames said finally looking at the marine and jerking his head towards the raptor behind him. "Let's go Davis," he said and the marine nodded in response before following Ames into the raptor.

**UNCLE Headquarters**

**NYC, New York, Earth**

"Alone she sleeps in the shirt of man," Amal sang softly, her licked clean tray sitting beside her bed, the water bottle still half full sitting next to it. She'd heard the song before from her father, the only song he knew and sang with a passion she'd only seen him get when he looked at her mother. "With my three wishes clutched in her hand. The first that she be spared the pain, that comes from a dark and laughing rain. When she finds love may it always stay true; this I beg for the second wish I made too." Her voice faltered a moment as she struggled to remember the words.

She smiled briefly as she remembered them, "But wish no more, my life you can take. To have her please just one day wake; to have her please just one day wake." She elongated the last note that her father normally just melded into another round of the song and let it die out before she closed her eyes, finally attempting to get some rest.

((Lyrics courtesy of Bear McCreary, "Gaeta's Lament"))

That night, Illya and Napoleon stood inside the tailor shop above the UNCLE base, the latter shivering uncontrollably.

Finally, a young woman with short red hair and dancing blue eyes entered the tailor shop. At the very sight of Napoleon Solo, Special Agent Erin Tucker grinned and took a running leap at the dark-haired agent, which turned into a rather conspicuous hug as she leapt into his arms, wrapping her legs around his torso and throwing her arms around his neck.

"Heya, loser!" she greeted him cheerfully.

"Good to see you again, Agent Tucker," Solo replied as she jumped back down, "That was a bit warmer greeting than I was expecting."

"Aw, don't mention it," Erin teased, playfully punching him in the shoulder and turning towards Solo's Russian companion.

"Illya!" She beamed, "Hey!" Illya was afraid that she was going to jump onto him too, but instead she just settled for an old-fashioned, both-sets-of-feet-on-the-ground type of hug.

"Welcome home," Illya greeted her with a smile. Despite her little girls' type of attitude at the present, Erin had proved to be worthy of the psychological title of 'big sister' to both of the older male agents.

"Great," she replied in a native drawl, "Now lets get inside before I freeze my a** off."

**In orbit**

**Earth, Sol System, Milky Way Galaxy**

"Cap' are you sure this is where you last saw her," Ensign Sharp Eye asked for the third time. They'd been out there for hours, searching the debris and not a single thing had showed up on DRADIS, and they hadn't seen anyone still alive, cylon otherwise, amongst the wreckage.

"Yes, I'm sure now keep your eyes on DRADIS and stop complaining," Ames said glaring back at her before turning his eyes to their search out of the canopy. The marine had long since taken a well deserved rest, not really useful upon the raptor other than for small talk which Ames hadn't been in the mood for.

"Maybe we should jump back," Ames muttered resignedly, leaning back in his seat. "There's nothing here but-"

"Wait," Sharp Eye said suddenly pressing her headset tighter against her ears. "Listen," she said reaching forward and unplugging her headset. It took Ames a moment to recognize the sound.

"That's Colonial, a rescue beacon, where's it coming from?" Ames asked unbuckling his belt and clambering into the back of the raptor to look at the screen. Sharp Eye was focusing the raptors system on the beacon.

"It's really weak, and we'll probably need to make a jump, but somebody's out there Cap'," Sharp Eye said with a smile and an amazed look on her face.

"Shortstop," Ames said a smile spreading across his features as well before he went back to the helm, pushing the marine. Startled the marine cried out, "I don't want to tango!" and Ames laughed with Sharp Eye at Davis' embarrassed face before explaining and plotting a jump course.

**UNCLE Headquarters**

**NYC, New York, Earth**

Meanwhile, Special Agent Erin Tucker, now all business, was briefing the men in on her side of the deal the next morning.

"Now lemme make something clear to y'all right now," she began, "I'm not gonna hinder y'all's progress with the lieutenant, I'm just gonna watch. But I really do wanna talk to her. That a problem Mr. Waverly?"

"No," Waverly responded, a bit moodily, "I promised Director Cooper our complete cooperation."

"Well, that's great!" Tucker smirked, and turned back to the younger two agents.

"This is where I'll tell y'all about the other threat. Not THRUSH, the Syndicate," she clarified firmly.

"The Syndicate is kinda like THRUSH, only they're more intertwined with today's government. They're smooth, they're quick, they're fast, and they got power. The nasty kind," she emphasized, "We got several people in authority here - well maybe not here, but definitely in the US Congress and so on - who know about this little joint and could very well expose it if it suited them. These are the other guys we're up against."

"Have they allied themselves with THRUSH?" Solo queried.

"Not as far as we know," Erin replied, then sat down on the briefing table.

"Well," she said, "That's all I can tell ya right now. Hey, Illya, where're you going?" she asked the Russian, who had been on his way discreetly out of the office.

"I'm going to conduct a little tour for Lt. Badr," Illya told her, "I promised."

"Well, then by all means!" said Erin, and shooed him out with a wave of her hand.

---

When Illya entered the room where Badr was being kept a couple of minutes later, he very quietly closed the door and stood to one side, realizing that she was asleep and not wanting to disturb her.

_"You know I'm proud of you Manny," Amal's father said quietly as he hugged her. This was the day she'd been assigned to the Prometheus and she was about to board. His face seemed older though, how she'd have imagined it looked now._

"I know dad," she said, unable to stop the tears that rolled down her cheeks. Her voice cracked as she'd spoke, and his hands comfortingly tightened around her before he let her go, trying to be distant.

"Go on," he'd said, smiling. "Your men are waiting for you." Her father said and a confused look spread across her face. His head nodded behind her and she turned seeing Captain Ames, a marine she didn't know and a girl she just barely recognized as Sarah, call sign Sharp Eye. A door was heard softly opening and closing behind her and she turned. Whirling around as she found her father gone.

"Dad?" She said turning to Captain Ames and the others but they were gone as well. "Dad?" She asked her voice more frantic as she found herself at that desert again, the water sweating out of her body, her hunger making her drop to her knees.

"Dad," Amal breathed as she woke with a start, surprised at her surroundings. She sat up, looking around confused and dazed, then her eyes fell upon Illya and it all returned to her. "Oh," she said softly, trying to hide her small disappointment as she calmed her breathing.

"Morning, Illya," She said, trying to be cheerful and giving him a small smile before she reached up and rubbed the corners of her eyes. She wondered how crappy she looked, but figured it wouldn't matter. It's not like anyone would be seeing her outside of this building that would laugh at her. Well, at least not that she knew of.

Illya smiled slightly as the young woman.

"Good morning," he replied, not knowing what else to say.

It wasn't like Illya to flirt or show off. That was Solo's job. Illya just handled all the technicalities while Solo went get himself into situations like a bull in a china shop.

Amal smiled a bit more freely after Illya spoke, laughing a bit before ruffling her hair. She again made a face at how disgusting it felt, it was even worse than the day before. Sighing, Amal threw the covers off of herself, kicking them off of her feet. Somehow during the night she'd managed to get her vest and undershirt off so she was just wearing a plain sports bra.

Illya's eyebrows shot up as he realized Lt. Badr's rather skimpy apparel.

Unaware that women on this planet didn't characteristically walk around in their undies around people they didn't know well, Amal didn't think anything of it. She'd seen worse, and had worn less than what she was in the public eye and it didn't bother her one bit.

"So, what's the news?" Amal asked, pulling her hair over her left shoulder and gently tugging her hand through it as she looked around the bed for her clothes.

"I think you might want to put some clothes on, Lieutenant," he reminded her carefully.

"Oh don't be a baby Illya," Amal said, her eyes widening for a minute as she noticed his behavior, "Don't tell me you haven't seen a girl half-naked before," Amal said, smiling as she attempted a joke with him. She sighed shaking her head and went back to her search.

A couple seconds later she located her vest. Her tank top was yet to be found. Shaking her head she pulled the vest over her head and straightened it over herself.

"Happy?" She asked still clearly amused at Illya's behavior.

"You look fine," Illya replied. He wasn't one to be thrown off track. In fact he often teased Napoleon about just the same thing, "Perhaps you'd like to get a bath before I show you around?"

He could see that she was uncomfortable in the state of her hair and body.

"Bath?" Amal asked stunned. She hadn't expected that. Sure, she was on land and they had technology that was clearly at least somewhat useful. But a bath? She hadn't even thought of that. Foolishly, she had thought she'd be lead to a shower of some sorts, like she'd gotten so used to on the Prometheus. But a real bath? This was just a bit too good to be true, but she wouldn't deny it if he was offering.

"Y-yeah, definitely," She said, smiling, too surprised still to really say anything else. She wouldn't believe it until she saw it. And then once she saw it, well, who knows what she'd do.

"The washroom is right through that door, Lieutenant," Kuryakin gestured, "I'll wait until you're finished, or I could leave and come back later."

Amal thought about it for a while and figured that she didn't want to take too long and have it be hours until she was finally ready for Illya to give her a tour, which would happen if she really enjoyed the bath. But then again, she hadn't even seen a bath tub in three years, so it was a difficult choice for her to make. Amal bit at her lip glancing at the door Illya had pointed to, thinking maybe it would be best to have him wait.

"You can wait if you want," Amal said finally deciding, not noticing how she'd bitten her lip so hard in her way too distracted thought that it was bleeding a bit until she tasted the metallic taste on her tongue. She gave a weak smile, knowing he hadn't noticed but still embarrassed. "I'll try to hurry," she said and tucked her hair behind her ears as she not-so-subtly rushed into the washroom.

-

Erin Tucker was still hanging out with Napoleon and Waverly, though the conversation had taken a more off-topic perspective.

"Remember the last time I contacted y'all?" She grinned.

"Yup," Napoleon replied dourly, "You tattled on us to Mr. Waverly."

((See "The Armageddon Affair))

"Yeah, well," Erin shrugged dismissively, "Somebody had to play big sister before y'all tore each other apart."

Just then the phone rang on Waverly's desk. The old man turned and answered it. Napoleon and Erin both shut up immediately.

"Hello?" Mr. Waverly answered.

"Mr. Waverly," said the voice from the other end of the line, "I don't expect you know me."

"Who is this?"

"As far as you're concerned, nobody. I want to speak to the alien. Can you bring her to 2721 Lamp street, unarmed?"

"That's out of the question," Waverly responded, "Who is this?" he repeated, more forcibly.

The other man ignored his question. "You may send one other with her to ensure her safety. Do as I say, and there will be no harm done. And no tricks, either...I'll know."

With that the phone hung up. Mr. Waverly hung up too, then quickly opened an intercom channel to the communications lab.

"Track the call I just received, Mr. Nayed," he ordered, "Tell me where it came from, and if possible, who it was."

"Yes, sir," replied the Yemenite agent, "Right away."

Turning to the others, Mr. Waverly explained to them what had just happened.

"You can't do what he says," Erin told him, "I wouldn't."

"We'll have to wait and see what he'll do if we don't," Waverly replied.

"What will he do if we don't?" Napoleon asked him.

"I don't know," Waverly answered the younger agent, "But I did get the impression that someone would get hurt."

"Sir," said Mr. Nayed, having found the source of the call, "The call was placed from a pay phone outside of Del Floria's. I've checked the security cameras, he's gone know. But we could get finger prints off the phone, sir."

"Do it," Waverly ordered him, "And get back to me with your results as soon as possible."

**Somewhere in Death Valley, Arizona**

**Arizona, USA, Earth**

"John, we've been staring at this hole all night, there's nothing here anymore." Sarah "Sharp Eye" said, her hands anxiously on her hip. They'd entered the atmosphere early that morning without incident and they'd been staring at this same crater for over an hour.

"Surely she wouldn't have just left without letting us know where she went," Ames said completely unaffected by Sharp Eye calling him by his first name. They'd all been stuck on a raptor for a day, first name basis was to be expected.

"She was taken," Davis said suddenly, staring at the ground. Sharp Eye and Fast Track exchanged glances then stood up from kneeling beside the hole and followed his gaze. "Tire tracks, and foot prints, leading from the crash and back. Either she was taken, or she went with someone."

"Nice job Davis," Fast Track said, surprised. "Now, let's follow those tracks." Ames said and turned to Sharp Eye. "You stay here and keep an eye on the raptor," He said and she nodded, giving him a salute before watching him and Davis walk off in the direction the tracks had gone.


	4. Act 4: Oh, Boy

Not twenty minutes later Amal was stepping out of the shower wearing the same clothes she had when she'd walked in, only her hair was creating a wet trail down the back of her black vest. It was less curly than it normally was, but that could be attributed to her having just taken a shower. She was definitely a lot cleaner, and was feeling a lot more confident about her appearance. She was surprised to see Illya still in her room.

She flashed him a smile before she slipped her feet into her flight boots, the only shoes she had. Her flight suit was on the back of a chair near where Illya was standing, and as she glanced near her bed she still couldn't locate her tank top. Her eye twitched as she wondered if someone would have taken it, but she brushed the thought away. Why would they want a shirt? It wasn't as if clothes were foreign to this planet.

"Are we ready?" She asked, unaware of whatever emotions or physical signs that Illya was giving that the plans had changed.

Illya nodded slightly. "This way please," he told the young woman, gesturing toward the door.

She looked like she felt a lot better than she had fifteen minutes ago. Perhaps it was something to do with the fact that she was cleaner. It was a constant in all women - They always took great care about their appearance and cleanliness, almost to the point of fastidiousness with some.

Amal nodded in return, feeling stupid that she couldn't think of anything intelligent to say other than, "Right." She felt like a moron, and she probably looked like one too. She shrugged off the thought, distracting herself by counting a number sequence she liked to repeat if she couldn't keep her thoughts right. _0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13. . ._ She walked towards the door that Illya had gestured to and as she stopped so she could turn the handle her count faltered, the smell of some foreign but appealing cologne floating up her nostrils.

_Wait, what comes next?_ Mentally slapping herself, Amal feigned confidence as she pushed the door open, and her eye twitched at the sight.

The corridor they stepped into was unimaginative, but efficient. Women and men in business suits strode purposefully up and down the hall, each taking off to their respective assignments. At some points were various panels and knobs, tidy, but having enough of a presence to suggest a sort of science-fiction-like atmosphere.

Illya stepped past her along the grayish-blue carpeted floor and turned to her patiently.

"Come with me please, Lieutenant," he told her, as though he conducted tours every day - which he didn't. However, in his youth he had once conducted a tour of a top-secret base for a group of crabby Russian notables when the poor then-private had drawn the short straw, so he figured that introducing an alien lieutenant to the less interesting highlights of U.N.C.L.E. headquarters could not be much more tedious than that.

Amal followed Illya carefully out of her room and looked around the place which seemed vaguely familiar, though it obviously couldn't have been. It was strange how she was comforted, yet terrified, by the mass of people in the room that sprawled out before her. It had a slight homey look about it though, in her mind, reminding her of the CIC back on the Prometheus which made her smile.

"This is amazing," Amal said as she looked around the room, habitually taking mark of the exits. It was a bad habit, part of her training still branded into her, but it was one that was possibly helped her. Amal's lips twitched as she heard someone shout and then a man run across the room and into an office before closing the door behind him. The door had an important look about it, as if the occupant was someone truly important, and Amal frowned.

Amal flushed as she realized Illya was touching her arm. It wasn't mean to be anything, and she didn't take it as anything, but it was still unnerving. Her muscles tightened nervously as she allowed Illya to lead her off.

--+--

"Mister Waverly, sir," A breathless technician said after rushing into Waverly's office. He had important new for the old man and it couldn't wait for the man to be out of whatever meeting he seemed to be in with a man the technician recognized faintly as someone named Solo.

"Yes, what is it?" asked Mr. Waverly, standing in curiosity. Solo's eyebrows rose, as he was also interested in the matter at hand.

Illya noticed the man running into Waverly's office and wondered if it was something involving Badr's case. The man was someone from Section 4, Intelligence and Communications...or perhaps it was just a run down satellite. The damn things had to come down some day...but to run into Mr. Waverly's office without the proper protocols involved seemed a bit of overkill, considering.

Ah, well. If it concerned him, Waverly would tell him later.

"If you'll come this way, Lieutenant," said Illya, putting a hand commandeering but gently on her arm, leading her toward the basic Operations Room.

"Well, um..." The scientist said scratching the back of his neck. The phrase, 'don't kill the messenger' came to his mind but he refrained from staying it. "There's sort of a problem that may or may not be good." He said pausing as he tried to figure out how to say what he needed without getting fired, or yelled at.

"About twenty minutes ago, the, er… ship, that you ordered us to dismantle and then repair? Well, it started sending out a signal. We didn't realize it until our systems picked up another ship near the crash site, slightly larger than the last, heading this way. Towards the signal." He said, grimacing and turning his head down and to the left in case Waverly should happen to get angry.

Waverly's eyebrows shot up, and a look of alarm briefly crossed Napoleon's face as the thought occurred to him that maybe Badr's people might assume that they had killed Badr and would attack first, and ask questions later.

"How much larger is 'slightly larger'?" Waverly asked, speaking the younger agent's mind.

"Around two feet taller, its hull seems to be much thicker, and it's at least four feet wider. It's stopped twice times since it's arrived, it could be damaged as well, but it's more likely that whoever, or whatever, they are that they're looking for that girl." The scientist said wiping his hands nervously on his pants.

"Not to be speaking out of turn here Mr. Waverly, sir, but I think it might be best if the female alien is allowed to see her ship to turn off the signal," the scientist said swallowing. "If it's left on, and the ship keeps heading this way, who knows what will happen."

Waverly thought for a moment.

"I will do what I can, Dr. Sauren," He told the scientist calmly but firmly, "Thank you for telling us."

After the man had left, Waverly turned to Solo with a dismal look. It was going to take miles of paperwork to clear this thing up and get Badr to tell them how to turn of the damn machine.

Just then Napoleon spoke up, speaking his mind, "Why can't anything we do ever be easy?"

"It's what we signed up for, Mr. Solo," Waverly told him, turning to open up an auto door set in the wall which opened up to reveal a whole new section of Mr. Waverly's office.

Snapping his fingers once with a wistful air, Napoleon said, "Damn, I should have read that fine print."

Waverly suppressed the smile that threatened to break out. "Quite so, Mr. Solo," he agreed with the younger agents, "Now, I need to make a phone call. You are dismissed."

On his way out, Napoleon stopped to speak to Agent Tucker, whom he briefed quickly on the situation at hand.

"Never gonna happen," Erin told him confidently, "Area 51's like that. They wouldn't let her near that ship. Anyhow, we've still got this situation with the anonymous goon saying -" she mimicked in a deep, gloomy voice, "'Bring her over or you're totally screwed' practically in our faces. There's way too much going on for comfort. Waverly's gonna have to cut the waiting and seeing and make a decision - fast. And you know what?" she asked, realizing something, "I ain't even talked to her yet."

**Somewhere in Death Valley, Arizona**

**Arizona, USA, Earth**

Around the time that Amal was speaking with Illya about his readiness, Sharp Eye was watching smugly as Ames and Davis wandered back, exhausted and covered in dust. Captain Ames gave her a glare as she smugly looked at him and remained his composure by keeping his mouth shut. Davis didn't even have the strength to look up at her and he picked up his feet only long enough to step onto the wing of the Raptor and then follow Ames inside.

"Things not go so well I'm guessing?" She asked, her smugness choking her speech. Ames silenced her with a fiercer glare before he sat down at the controls. "Lock her up, and check DRADIS for anything. If there's nothing, we'll do a quick fly by and then head back to the Prometheus." Ames said, though they all knew that was impossible. They'd choke out of fuel before they even got half-way around this planet and they knew it.

"Aye Cap'," Sharp Eye replied, sighing as she was clearly not going to get anything more from Ames before doing as he'd asked. It was another few minutes as Ames focused on getting their raptor into the air before Sharp Eye spoke.

"Twenty degrees north, Captain, probably a half-hour's trip if we rush it. But that requires more fuel than we probably have," Sharp Eye said, muttering the last bit.

"What's that, Sharp?" Ames asked her, having heard the last bit but daring her to say it again. Sharp Eye stayed silent and fumed silently as Ames brought the raptor into the air and headed for the DRADIS contact. Whatever was left of Amal's ship was still picking up on DRADIS, and they were heading for it.

-

Five minutes after beginning to follow the signal, the raptor that held Ames, Sharp Eye, and Davis began to sputter and dip uncontrollably. It was out of fuel, and it Ames didn't regain control and land her, they'd be crashed too. "Hang on!" He shouted pulling up swiftly on the controls as the raptor started taking a nose dive before cutting the engine. They hovered in mid-air for a moment before falling ten feet to the ground, their landing gear taking up most of the damage.

They landed with a cacophony of screams, grinding, and dust flying in a cloud around the raptor. After the dust settled and limbs had been counted, no one said anything. The raptor was totally dead now and they couldn't even track the signal without leaving the raptor behind entirely. Ames pulled at his face and rested his head in his arms on the controls that were useless now.

"What do you think Cap'?" Sharp Eye asked, but received no answer. Ames didn't have one. They'd come all this way, only to run out of fuel, and Amal's distress signal was just glaring him in the face making matters only that much worse in his mind. After a few minutes he didn't see what could hurt taking a day's rations and just walking, but he'd have to leave Sharp Eye or Davis on the Raptor.

"We don't have enough rations to last us much longer here, so either two of us go and one of us stays, or we all go. Either way we're pretty much fracked," Ames said pulling at his flight suit, the heat from Earth's sun already pressing down on the enclosed Raptor.

**Dumasi's Indian Restaurant**

**New York City, New York **

A middle-aged spy scowled as he waited in a small restaurant on Lamp Street, watching the road ominously as the sun shone upon the New York City skyline. No one had shown, nor had he expected them to. Waverly would not bow to anonymous terrorist calls.

Which meant, of course, that action of some sort had to be taken.

"No. 13 to Team 1," he whispered, his voice carried by an electronic microphone in his ear to four people in various positions under Del Floria's Tailor Shop, "Execute Plan B."

**UNCLE Headquarters**

**New York City, New York**

Illya Kuryakin was leading Lt. Badr down a busy hallway when all of a sudden, the lights cut out, punctuated with a muttered "Frack me!" from Lt. Badr. Grabbing her firmly on the arm, Illya hurried on down the corridor toward the nearest elevator, and got there just in time to hear it shut in front of his nose. Growling softly in frustration, Illya groped about and found the "up" button and pressed it - and pressed it again, but to no avail.

He and Amal were trapped.

Hearing someone's footsteps in the corridor, Illya paused, listening, and struck out, catching a man in the face in the pitch dark - not an easy feat, even for a trained special agent. Just then he heard a woman's breath behind him and whirled around, blind as a bat, only to be struck on the head by the man he'd just punched. Everything went really black, and Illya fell to the floor unconscious.

"Now the girl," the team leader, Lt. Saya Kov, ordered her fellow agents of the powerful agency of THRUSH. THRUSH had recently formed a temporary alliance with the power hungry Syndicate, both agencies eager to get their hands on a live alien specimen.

Special Agent Tobias Meyer, watching the blinded young alien through night-vision goggles, waited, then pounced on his confused and helpless victim with a quick chop to the neck.

Amal heard someone walking in the hallway in front of them and bit at her lower lip as Illya let go of her and there was the sound of flesh colliding against flesh. Someone was fighting with Illya. Amal surprised herself by immediately flying into action.

She latched herself onto the back of the woman that had knocked Illya unconscious and put the girl in a headlock. The woman struggled and had almost gotten Amal off of her, even though she was still weakened by her lack of air, when Amal felt a hard blow to the back of her neck. Her grip loosened and she fell on the floor gradually, slowly loosing consciousness. She was out before her head hit the floor with a hard, resounding crack.

-

"Security breach on Level One, Corridor 13!"

"What the hell is going on?!"

"Who's done it this time!?"

"Somebody call Section 3!"

All Napoleon could say as he hurried toward Corridor 13 was, if this was Waverly's brother-in-law "spicing things up" again, he'd had it.

As the door opened, Napoleon rushed through, Erin along with him, to see the lights flicker back on inside, several agents blinking at the sudden light and relieved to be able to see their surroundings again. Strangely enough, there was no sign of either Illya or Amal Badr, whom Napoleon had known for a fact to be headed down this way.

"Where's Illya?" he asked an agent at random, frowning with worry.

"I don't know," replied the agent, "I heard some fighting, sir, but the corridor must've been echoing, because I couldn't locate it to help the victims, and even if I'd been able to, a fat lot I could've done in the dark, sir. I'm sorry."

"Echoing?" Erin scowled, "This corridor doesn't echo."

"That's what's weird, ma'am," replied the agent, "It must have been some gadget THRUSH has got now."

Or one of Hemingway's stupid toys, Napoleon thought grudgingly, though I doubt he'd actually attack someone.

"They were probably abducted during the lights-out," Erin concluded as the agent walked away, "The attacker's must've been wearing night goggles."

Napoleon punched his own hand in frustration. "Let's go report in to Waverly," he told her, and go they did.

_I don't believe this_, thought Napoleon sullenly, _first an alien lands in Arizona, Death Valley of all places, her pals are coming back to get her, and on top of all that, the alien's been abducted by some very pushy people, along with my best friend._

What ran through Erin's mind was a little less deliberate, but was straight to the point, quoting from a humorous conversation with her drunken aunt that had occurred during her college years.

_Doesn't that just wanna make ya say...?_

Oh, Aunt Effy...


End file.
